Armistice Day.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark out place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
---John McCrae, December 1915
If you don't know why, go find out. If you do know why, remember. Whether you do or not, find another poem and pass it on.
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark out place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
---John McCrae, December 1915
If you don't know why, go find out. If you do know why, remember. Whether you do or not, find another poem and pass it on.